


underneath it all, we're all just savages

by montecarlos



Category: Formula E RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, Psychological Torture, Spies & Secret Agents, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 11:18:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17099606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montecarlos/pseuds/montecarlos
Summary: “I told you to bring it back in one piece, not bring back one piece, 006.”andré is one of her majesty's finest, a double oh agent. jev is his long suffering quartermaster.





	underneath it all, we're all just savages

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ttired](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ttired/gifts).



> This monster is for the lovely Boz, who asked for well, anything mental. I think this certainly fulfils the brief - aka. Sarah writes 17 THOUSAND WORDS over like three days and of course, it's spy fic because I am a slag for spy fic and people kept sending me photos of André in suits. But seriously, I hope you like this fic, babe, it's all for you <33
> 
> A big thank you to Jazz, Sophie and Caroline, without whom this fic would not exist. 
> 
> Warnings for torture, mostly. Sadly, I couldn't get André and Jev to mack it out on this fic, Jev's far too much of a prude but I am hoping the sexual tension is more than enough. Title from Savages by Marina and the Diamonds.

The Aston shudders slightly as he slams down on the accelerator, the car flying down the sweeping Sicilian roads. He tugs on the steering wheel ever so slightly, smirking at the sensitivity of the power-steering as he brushes past another unsuspecting member of the public in their Fiat, presumably on a Sunday drive, and who have no idea of the danger in the black SUV following behind.  
  
But he knows. He sees the assault rifle in the glint of the windows, hears the sound of metal and ammunition erupt through the air as they enter the tunnel. He swerves to avoid the gunfire, his eyes fixed firmly on the mirror for a few seconds as he hears a few of the stray bullets hit the paintwork.  
  
Another bullet cracks the window-screen as he pulls alongside a truck. However, before he can push the gas pedal down a little further, another shot hits one of the tyres. The smell of rubber fills the air as the vehicle fishtails in front of him, shuddering dangerously.  
  
“Everything alright?” The familiar French accent is barely audible through his earpiece as the truck scythes through the air in front of his Aston, slamming into the wall. He ignores the question and turns the car to move out quickly, only for the truck to follow suit. He swears loudly as a large piece of metal, presumably from the bumper of the vehicle impales itself through the car door, inches from his thigh.  
  
“Jesus fucking christ, this car is brand new,” He mutters, braking heavily and ignoring the calls from his earpiece. However, as he turns the wheel of the Aston away from the truck, the force becomes too much and rips the entire door away before it enters a spin. He fights with the steering, his teeth gritted as the smell of burning rubber and spent ammunition enters his nostrils.  
  
“Talk to me, 006. That’s an order!”  
  
The order goes unnoticed, lost in a squeal of rubber and broken metal as he manages to brake hard enough to correct himself before slamming down on the accelerator to clear the broken truck. However, the SUV still manages to escape unscathed, and they both exit the tunnel down the narrowing winding road. He’s not alone - he can spot at least two other vehicles of similar disposition in his mirrors. He drives out onto the opposite side of the road, only to spot the large lorry sweeping in the other direction. It’s easy enough to ease the Aston into a small gap between two lorries on the correct side, leaving the SUV as waiting prey. He smiles as he hears the impact of metal upon metal.  
  
“006, I will pull you out of there in a second if you don’t respond-”  
  
He ignores the voice as he slams on the brakes and heads off down a side road, tyres squealing as another round of bullets litter the car’s exterior. He bites down on his lip, feeling the metallic tang fill his drying mouth for a moment as he loses another follower, the crunch of metal as the Alfa Romeo hits the steel barriers is a welcome one. He continues down the dirt road, watching as the road narrows and the barriers become non-existent. He doesn’t anticipate the final car - another Alfa Romeo, can’t they be original - pulling alongside his own, the man hanging out of the window wielding a Paratrooper machine gun. He smirks at the weapon. He loves a good challenge. It’s easy enough to dodge the first set of bullets, the car does the rest - _he_ is not going to be happy, _he_ did say to bring it back in one piece. However, the Alfa Romeo swings into his Aston and the metal shudders. They wrench apart, as another round of bullets fire out - this time he feels one hit him. He can feel the initial snap of pain before it’s masked by the adrenaline. Hissing, he spots the tractor coming in the opposite direction and swerves out to the right to avoid it. Despite the ache of his shoulder, his fingers curl around his unsuppressed UMP-9 and it’s drawn as the tractor disappears from view.  
  
“For god’s sake 006!”  
  
He fires, never flinching. It’s easy enough after that - the power of the gun is enough to force the driver’s hands away from the wheel, his gun falling from his hands as the car veers away, smashing through a lone barrier and tumbling down the ravine. He smiles as he glances in his mirrors, watching the cloud of dust rise up from the side of the cliff, driving away from the danger.  
  
“I’m going to send you on your next mission with nothing but a banana and a roll of tin-foil, Lotterer. Do you hear me?”  
  
He smirks. “Nice to hear from you too, Q. You never call me Lotterer,”  
  
“Nice of you grace me with your presence, 006. I assume you enjoy giving me even more paperwork than I already have to sign?”  
  
“Always,” The smirk deepens as he drops the UMP-9 to the floor near the passenger seat. “Though you might have to rebuild the Aston-”  
  
French expletives erupt through the earpiece as he continues to drive down the sweeping road.

* * *

  
Debrief is always a chore. It’s the one part of his position as a double oh that André loathes - such an arduous process full of paperwork, signatures, forms - and André’s least favourite part - handing back his standard issue weapons. However, there is one small glimmer of excitement in the debriefing process in the form of a tall, lithe man, head of his branch and of whom the majority of MI6 are terrified of, despite wearing the ugliest old man cardigans known to man. 

Said man is currently wearing one of his particularly garish ones. Grey, white and brown argyle shouldn’t look good on anyone, but it does on him. He’s paying no attention to the branch buzzing around him, slumped over his laptop typing frantically, eyes roving over what André assumes is lines and lines of code. His attention does not waver from his laptop as André enters his office. André takes in the sight of the younger man - slightly dishevelled, presumably from aiding 004 through a mission for most of the night - his dark hair sticks up on end, the stubble on his chin darker than usual. His ever-present mug full of coffee sits by his elbow, the curls of heat slowly dancing into the air.  
  
“006,” The dulcet French tones suddenly carry through the silence as his pale fingers still on the keys as his eyes flicker up from the screen. He surveys André over his thick-rimmed glasses. “Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence. What’s the damage this time?”  
  
André tries to keep his expression neutral as he drops the pieces of his Walther wordlessly into the metal tray on the desk, trying not to feel like a chastised child. The other man pushes his laptop away, his hands moving to survey the broken weapon. He sighs heavily as he leans back in his chair. “And what of your radio and your earwig 006?”  
  
André opens his mouth to explain what happened - he wasn’t his fault per se, it was a miracle he’d managed to bring himself back in one piece, let alone his equipment. But he’s cut off before the words even brush over his lips.  
  
“I told you to bring it back in one piece, not bring back _one piece_ , 006.”  
  
André smirks at the younger man. “I thought I heard you complaining that you were bored last week so-”  
  
The other man pushes his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. “That’s not an excuse for you to throw away hundreds of pounds of tech, I can’t keep the financial records away from M forever.”  
  
“God thing I’m not asking you to then,” He smiles broadly, leaning over the younger man’s desk. “But I do have a favour-”  
  
“I’m not making you an exploding pen, 006.”  
  
André sighs. “But why?  It was a **_slight_ ** misdemeanor,”  
  
“Destroying the custom-built Aston Martin that I spent months perfecting and that you promised to bring back in one piece is a slight misdemeanor?  I’m expecting coffee to be brought to my desk for the next three years for this.”  
  
“I shall make sure to pick up a few bags next time I’m on mission in South America,”  
  
“I’m still not making you a exploding pen, 006. And don’t think of flirting with R or any of the minions to get what you want, they’ve already been briefed,” He pulls the metal tray towards him, his hazel eyes roving over the damaged parts. “Is that all?”  
  
“You called me by my name on the field,” André says, elbows still on the paperwork piled high over the desk.  
  
“I’m sure medical will be relieved to know that your intellect is still intact and you continue to point out the obvious-”  
  
“You still won’t tell me yours,”  
  
“That’s classified. And you don’t need to know my proper name, my designation is quite enough,”  
  
André watches his pale fingers sweep over the keyboard of his laptop, the lines of code reflecting in the lenses of his glasses as his attention moves back towards his work. “Q,” He says with a nod.  
  
The man - Q - looks up from his laptop. “Don’t try and hack into my personnel file again, 006.”  
  
André smirks as he thinks of the last time he tried to access Q’s file. The cat videos were funny at first, but they eventually grew tedious and he had to swallow his pride and shuffle down to Q branch with his laptop to force one of the minions to deal with the problem. He remembers catching a glimpse of Q in his office, eyes glinting, with a smile on his face. “Wouldn’t dream of it,”  
  
There is a different expression is on the Quartermaster’s face at the moment - the hazel eyes are calculating, the lips drawn tightly. “Oh, and 006? After your debrief with M, might I recommend a trip down to Medical?”  
  
André looks perplexed for a moment.  
  
“There’s blood on your shirt.” Q points out with a smirk, before returning to his laptop. “It’s probably a surface wound, but you don’t want it reopening on your next mission,”  
  
“Well, we can’t have that,” André replies with a smirk as he straightens up from the desk. “You can’t take over the world if I don’t bring you your coffee back-”  
  
“ _Goodbye_ , 006,” Q says in a exasperated tone, muttering something about double ohs preventing him from working. André pretends not to hear as he bids farewell to the Quartermaster and heads for the elevator.

* * *

  
“Come in, 006,” M’s crisp voice filters through the door before André can even raise his knuckles to knock at the wood. He often wonders how she deduces that it’s him at her door before he even makes his presence enough, he assumes it’s perhaps some sort of camera in the entrance, but has never found any indication that one exists.  
  
He enters her office wordlessly, taking in the sight of the woman sitting in the chair, her dark hair brushed back from her face, her suit perfectly pressed as always. She appears to be writing something at the desk, but it is quickly cleared away at the sight of the agent standing before her. “006, how was Sicily?”  
  
“Tedious as always,” André says, sinking into the chair in front of her. He slides the two-inch USB stick he’d been tasked to collect across the pristine, polished mahogany.  
  
“I still can’t believe I got sent out to Sicily for _that,_ ”  
  
M purses her lips. “At least you’re not in deep cover in Russia like 003,” Her dark eyes locked on him as her fingers curl around the stick. “The only people who have more information than _that_ are the heads of department,” The stick disappears into her suit pocket.  
  
“You still never told me the story of how the USB came to be there,”  
  
“It was on a need to know basis.” She says, gaze unwavering, as though she’s daring him to challenge her. “I heard you managed to destroy the Aston prototype,” She sounds calm on the surface, but André knows better. There’s a veil of anger underneath her calm veneer.  
  
“Well, not me personally,” André mutters under his breath. “Terrorists these days have no regard for technology,”  
  
“I ordered you specifically to stay out of trouble and you were to bring the prototype back in working condition. I expect an agent as experienced as yourself to bring back more than the steering wheel of a project that cost us thousands of pounds. I’ve already got bloody C on my back about the double-oh programme.”  
  
“I wouldn’t have had to if MI6 kept their secrets where they could find them, Leena-”  
  
“Enough,” M says coldly, bristling at the sound of her real name brushing past André’s lips. “You know better than to use my name in any capacity inside this office, Lotterer.”  
  
“And I know you better than anyone. You’d do well to remember that.”  
  
André leans back on his chair as M remains silent, the frown deep on her face. “Like you know that I’m the best damn agent here,”  
  
She can’t argue with him there. She knows it’s true - he’s often sent on the more delicate and dangerous missions. Many assume it’s because of his age and experience within the field, but others know better. The double-ohs are talented, intelligent and resourceful, but André knows he’s the best of the best, and that’s the reason that M tasks him with such missions.  
  
“You may leave now, 006.” She finally says, her voice tight and clipped. However, as André rises from his chair, her dark eyes remain locked on him. “And drop into medical before you go home. It looks like a nasty wound.”  
  
André nods once, glancing down at the drying blood on his shirt. He would usually antagonise her a little further, but he knows how far to push M - and tonight isn’t the right time to do that. He leaves without a fuss, closing the door quietly behind him.

* * *

  
The wound is thankfully only a shoulder graze, and André is waved out of medical with a set of bandages and a promise to lay off weight training for a couple of days. He knows that they wouldn’t want to keep a grumpy double-oh in the wing overnight, not after the Paris incident. On his way to the garage to pick up his Porsche, he walks past Q Branch, spotting the Quartermaster still at his desk, headset firmly pressed over his messy swept-back hair, looking harried and presumably guiding one of the double-ohs through a particularly messy mission. Other members of Q branch often take part in extractions and missions - especially R, Q’s second in command, a tiny man named Robin who has the strangest accent in the entirety of MI6 and the man who is currently occupying the bed of 008.  
  
But the double-ohs always prefer to have Q lead them on their missions. André is no exception. He remembers the first time he came into contact with the Quartermaster. He had been in deep cover somewhere on the border of China and Nepal when the explosion had happened. Thousands of personnel murdered by an ex-agent with an agenda, including MI6’s Quartermaster - André’s first ever quartermaster. He was much older and stocky, with sharp eyes and the most brilliant mind André ever had the pleasure of knowing. Tom was one of the first people to welcome him into MI6 when he was a junior agent and nobody took him seriously, when he was given the most menial missions.  
  
However, this kindness and quick mind did not stop Tom falling victim to the attack. Q-Branch was virtually destroyed, as were many of its important personnel, including the R at that time, a young man named Loic whom Tom was grooming as his successor. André heard nothing of it. He was alone in Nepal for three weeks without contact, despite M’s attempts to deliver the news. André was surprised when he finally managed to contact Q-branch, only for an unfamiliar voice to brush against his ear.  
  
“Nice to hear from you, 006,”  
  
“Who are you?” André asks, brow furrowed. It’s definitely not Tom, though the voice is still of a calm and collected nature to which he’s become accustomed. “Where’s Q?”  
  
There’s a slight pause in his ear, an uttered expletive. “006. I was under the impression that M had sent word of what happened-”  
  
“Where’s Q?” André repeated.  
  
“I’m your new Quartermaster, 006.”  
  
“You must be _joking,_ ”    
  
Another sigh, this one more evident. “Just take the second exit and stop being difficult.”  
  
André’s opinion of the Quartermaster didn’t waver when he finally met the owner of the calm voice standing in Q-Branch where his predecessor once stood, wearing the most hideous jumper that André has ever seen. He’s young - André knew this for certain, he’s not even sure that this man could grow facial hair. His hair is untidy, swept back from his face and a pair of glasses rest on his nose.  
  
“Ahh, 006. I’ve heard so much about you,”  
  
“And I’ve heard so little about you,” André quips.  
  
“That’s the idea. I’m here to outfit you on your missions and make sure you don’t get killed. A name is not necessary,” The younger man folded his arms, looking at André over the top of his glasses. “And no, I certainly am not joking,”  
  
“I’m not sure someone who looks fresh out of secondary school is well equipped to make sure I don’t get killed,”  
  
“I can assure you, my school days are well and truly behind me,”  
  
“You can’t even grow facial hair,”  
  
“I’m sure I could cause more damage with my laptop before my first cup of coffee in the time it takes you to fly to your first mission,”  
  
“So what do you need me for?”  
  
“I can’t take all the credit now, can I?” He smiles - and it’s dangerous. André finds himself smiling in response. It’s the first time he’s seen something underneath the young man’s veneer, something that surely M must have seen to recruit him to such a high position in the first place.  
  
“Q,” He says, holding out his hand.  
  
The Quartermaster’s smile widens ever so slightly. “006,” He replies, his hand brushing against André’s.  
  
After that initial meeting, André knew he could trust Q. He was ruthless in decision making and on missions, André knew that the voice in his ear would get him out of any predicament alive. Despite the time he spent with Q, he knew nothing about the man - he had once tried to hack into his personnel folder, only for his laptop to fall victim to a nasty virus (of which he was sure was Q’s handiwork).  He knew that Q drank the best coffee that money could buy and that Preston, M’s second in command, often despaired at the budget to keep Q-Branch caffeinated. He also knew that the younger man had a cat, named Techeetah or something, that he was French (and most likely from Paris) and he wore the most garish cardigans to work every morning. Other than that, the man known as the Quartermaster of MI6 was a complete enigma.  
  
André shrugs away the thoughts as he pulls his peacoat closer around his form, preparing to head down to the garage to collect his beloved Porsche and take a few days off.

* * *

  
“I gave you the week off, Lotterer,” M sighs heavily as he’s sitting in the chair in her office on the Monday morning, a mere two days later.  
  
“Got bored, you know how it is,” André leans back in the armchair, his ankles crossed.  
  
“No 007 to entertain you?”  M quirks her lips.  
  
“You know Rossiter is under deep cover at the moment,” He says nonchalantly. “But I’m disappointed it took you this long to catch on,”  
  
“I’ve known since the beginning.” M replies with a smile. “You’re not the only one who has exceptional intuition. You think I don’t know what goes on my double-oh branch?”  
  
“I don’t doubt it,” André smirks. “We’ve been friends for a long time,”  
  
“I’ve enjoyed the last two days without you, Lotterer. Significantly less paperwork to deal with,”  
  
“You love to be kept busy, admit it.”  
  
“Not as much as you think, 006.” M sighs. “But since you’re back, you can be the first double oh to participate in the new tracking technology,”  
  
“I’d rather go off the grid than be Q’s guinea pig-” André says with a sniff. Q is excellent at his job, but André has lost count of the injuries he’s sustained testing things in Q Branch (it had taken him ages to grow back his eyebrows after the flamethrower lighter was deemed a failure.)  
  
“I’m sorry, 006. This is non-negotiable. There’s talk of the government wanting rid of the double oh programme altogether. We have to co-operate,”  
  
“Ah, is C being a delightful pain in the arse again? I could neutralise him if you want, whilst I still have my license to kill,”  
  
He spots the hint of smirk on M’s face. “That won’t be necessary at the moment, 006, as much as I’d enjoy watching that,”  
  
“So what torture has Q invented to make this new whipping-boy happy?” André asks, quirking his eyebrow.  
  
M doesn’t reply with words, only a smile - a smile that André knows well. She remains wordless as she accompanies him down to Q Branch.  
  
André loves Q Branch - it’s a mishmash of weapons, computers, every piece of technology that anyone could ever think of. He tries not to eye the prototype rifle resting in one of the minion’s hands, the blueprints scattering various noticeboards of deadly weapons waiting to be created for the double-ohs. Q is in the middle of the chaos, signing off various clipboards with his familiar jaunty scrawl.  
  
“Ma’am, 006,” He says, smiling gently. “Should we proceed to the testing room?”  
  
André follows the bespectacled man into what appears to be a bunker with a metal door. M hovers in the doorway as André is guided into the solitary chair in the room. The walls are covered in screens and there’s a nasty looking piece of equipment situated over the right handle of the chair. “Now,” Q says, pushing André’s arm into the metal restraints.  
  
“Q, what are you doing-”  
  
“New tracking programme. This one releases itself into your blood - so nobody can tear out their expensive trackers when they don’t want to be found,”  
  
“Or the enemies just kill me instead of cutting it out of my arm like they did the last time,” André says, glaring at the Quartermaster.  
  
Q’s lips quirk ever so slightly. “That would be an awful shame, 006,” He slides the machine over André’s arm. “Now just relax.”  
  
“Easy for you to say-” André bites out, glancing at the screen in front of him as the x-ray of his arm flashes into view. “You’re not the one getting trackers put in you-”  
  
Q ignores the animosity. “You may feel a small _prick,_ ”  
  
He can only smirk as he watches the double-oh jolt a little as the tracker is implanted into his skin.

* * *

 

The injection point still burns a few hours later when he calls James - they’re not supposed to contact one another on missions, but double-ohs never played by the rules.  
  
“So how is Riyadh?” André curls up on his couch, nursing his scotch.  
  
“Oh, yeah, it’s great. I can see myself retiring here,” James’s voice holds a touch of sarcasm. “Weather’s great, company not so much,”  
  
“Well, I can’t help you with that...I think Q’s monitoring all the channels. I don’t think he wants to hear the phone sex we’re capable of,”  
  
“That’s a shame,” André can almost hear the smile in the younger agent’s voice. “I think it would be good to hear him let loose a little,”  
  
“He’s still not bloody told you his name, ‘Dre,” James says, his voice playful.  
  
“I’m working on it,” André replies, rolling his eyes. “I’ll get him to tell me eventually when he’s not busy shooting me with needles,”  
  
“Sounds kinky,”  
  
“It’s really not. Apparently, there’s some bigwig that even M is scared of, pushing for us to lose our double oh status so now she’s okay with tagging us like dogs,”  
  
“Ah, the elusive C,” James murmurs. “Well, I suppose I can put a bullet or two in his arse before my license is revoked,”  
  
André laughs. “Get in line. I’m first. I just had our lovely Quartermaster jab a tracker into my blood because of that arsehole,”  
  
“You like the pain,” James teases. “And let’s be honest, I think M just wanted to save on paperwork whenever you go out on mission. She’ll know exactly where you are at all times now,”  
  
“I can think of nothing worse,” André says with a sigh. “Anyway, lets quit talking about work, I’ve just got back from that Sicily mission,”  
  
“You’re just grumpy that you didn’t have to seduce anyone this time,”  
  
André shakes his head, making a noise of disapproval. “It’s been a while since I’ve slept with anyone and not had a earwig in, asking me to snatch some missile plans or something-”  
  
“I hope you didn’t have an earwig in, the last time that you and I - you know-”  
  
André snorts. “Not that you knew about,”  
  
“You fucking dick,”  
  
“You never complained before,” André says, unable to keep the smirk off his face.  
  
“Never gave me a reason to,” James practically purrs back. “Now I have to use my right hand instead,”  
  
“Knew there was a reason I turned that mission down,”  
  
“M knew that you couldn’t cope doing a deep-cover mission. You’d end up fucking half of Riyadh in one night,”  
  
“You know me well,”  
  
“A little too well,” James says and André can hear the rustle of the bedsheets. “I better go, ‘Dre. I’m sure M will have me up at the crack of dawn for some drug busting business,”  
  
The dial tone clicks through the silence and André stares down at his empty glass.

* * *

  
It turns out that M hates having a bored agent more than she hates the growing pile of paperwork caused by his misdemeanors. She calls him into her office late on Monday morning and tells him of his new assignment - some mark that needs seducing in Paris. She hands him his travel ticket and his new passport before telling him to head down to Q Branch.  
  
“When will you all realise that Q Branch isn’t a bloody Apple factory?” Q bites out, clearly not happy in the slightest at having a double-oh in his branch practically begging for equipment and surveys André with the dirtiest look he can muster through his thick-rimmed glasses. His accent seems to become more French in anger, tinging every single word from the young man’s mouth. “Do you know how much paperwork I have, Lotterer? Do you?”  
  
“I could hazard a guess,” André says, glancing towards Q’s desk at the mountain building in his desk-tray. “But this time, it’s M’s orders,”  
  
“What could you possibly need for a seduction mission, 006? And I swear to god, if you say an exploding condom, I’ll hack into your computer and make your screensaver Barbie,”  
  
“I didn’t think you actually meant you were going to send me into the field with just a paperclip and a banana,”  
  
“I am sure you could make it work,” Q says, glancing at the agent through his glasses, a smirk playing on his lips. “But I suppose M would never forgive me if her favourite agent ended up dead,” He pulls a small square box off the shelf behind him which André notices has his initials written on the label.  
  
“Who is your favourite agent?” André asks, accepting the box from his Quartermaster.  
  
“Certainly not you,” Q says, raising an eyebrow. “003 and 009 bring back their equipment in one piece,”  
  
“In my defence, I couldn’t exactly jump back into the Amazon to retrieve my Walther,”  
  
“You could have easily fought off the caimans, but no, you choose to lead the gun that took me four hours to build up and code to your palm to a watery grave,”  
  
André smirks as he lifts the lid.  
  
“Another palm-encoded Walther. Do not lose this one, 006 or I might have to find a way to weld the weapon to your hand so you never put it down,” Q says with a glance down at the tray where 008 has dumped the remains of his equipment after his mission in New Delhi.  
  
“That’s an interesting idea,”  
  
“I mean it, 006. I want it back in one piece. Hence me giving you the gun only,”  
  
“You wound me, Q.”  
  
The younger man raises an eyebrow. “Well, I suppose instead of me attending this big budget meeting, I could just send you with the twelve trays of equipment you’ve broken already this year,"

“At least I came back in one piece? Isn’t that the most important thing?”  
  
“I’d hardly say coming back having been shot twice in the chest is one piece, 006,”  
  
André smirks. “Nice to know you care, Quartermaster.”  
  
Q’s lips twitch ever so slightly. “And yet you wonder why I still haven’t made you that exploding pen,”  
  
“You like to make me suffer,” André says, slowly. He holds eyes contact with the younger man - noticing the little gold flecks mixed in with the hazel and the brown. “Still haven’t told me your name,”  
  
“Why would you need to know that, 006?”  
  
“Because I’m interested,”  
  
André pretends not to see the faint blush that blossoms over the Quartermaster’s face as he pushes his glasses back onto his nose as he pulls something small out of his pocket and shoves it into André’s hand.

“Standard issue radio and transmitter. I believe R is still working on getting the earwig ready. You double ohs seem to think they cost nothing to make, it seems?” 

André smirks at the words that he’s heard so many times before as his fingers curl around the tiny radio, warm skin brushing against the Quartermasters. “Can I take you to dinner if I bring this one back in one piece?”  
  
“Right, well-” Q snatches his hand away as though he’s been burned. “I have to go supervise 002’s mission, before it inevitably goes wrong,”  
  
He turns on his heel and walks away quickly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his incredibly garish cardigan - cream and brown today - his shoes shuffling against the concrete floor. André watches him go, his fingers curling around the radio.

* * *

  
André ends up losing his radio somewhere in the Seine. It’s not his fault, per se, he didn’t anticipate getting thrown off the boat when he was trying to pull his best moves on the mark. He limps back to England in a sorry state, still trying to get the river water out of his ears and the stains out of his favourite Armani trousers.  
  
He knows he’ll be chewed out by M the second he gets through her office door so he opts to take his Walther (still in one piece but still damp from Seine water) and his earwig (intact but also waterlogged) down to Q Branch and hope that the Quartermaster is in a forgiving mood.

When he finally enters Q Branch, he notices it’s much quieter than usual - Q is nowhere to be seen. His office door is shut and there’s only the lamp that Q uses occasionally lighting up the outside. André frowns as he moves closer to the door, his hand pausing on the handle as he hears the familiar Portuguese accent of 008 inside.  
  
“You know we shouldn’t be in here,” The double oh purrs out and André immediately feels his eyebrow raise in surprise. Antonio is one of his good friends - and he’s a fantastic agent. But he’s not interested in Q surely, he had told André that the Quartermaster wasn’t his type - and besides, he had been hovering around R for well over six months, bringing the Dutch man coffee and biscuits when he was running low.  
  
The sound of lips meeting cuts through his thoughts. He can’t see anything, the door is shut tight, but he can hear every groan that brushes past 008’s lips. André hears another set of moans a moment later, it’s masculine - that much is discernible - and judging by the face it’s coming from the Quartermaster’s office -  
  
“It’s a shame we can’t go to your place and do this properly-” 008 continues. “On a bed would be nice-”  
  
He’s again silenced by lips. André bites down his lip, his ear pressed against the door as he hears the sound of metal teeth unhooking from a zipper, another set of groans brushing past lips as they connect, the rustle of clothing being removed - surely Q wasn’t going to shag a double oh in his office, was he? Had Antonio grown tired of R and decided he wanted someone more superior?  
  
Finally, his curiosity gets the better of him and his hand fumbles on the doorknob. He pushes the door open, trying to portray an air of nonchalance and confidence, expecting to see Antonio - 008 - with a naked Q on the desk.  
  
He’s half right.  
  
008 has ripped his lips away from a half-naked R, who is sitting on his superior’s desk, his face turning redder and redder by the minute.  
  
“006, what the fuck are you doing in here?” Antonio’s face looks like it betrays little emotion, but André can spot the slight flash of panic in his eyes.  
  
“I could ask you the same question,” André drawls, staring between the two half-clothed men. “Fucking a double oh in your superior’s office?” He directs the comment towards R who turns redder, still.  
  
“I’m sure Q has had to deal with worse things in his office,” R snaps back, despite his blush-stained cheeks.  
  
André feels the smirk flicker across his face at the younger man’s attitude.  
  
“What are you doing down here, André?” 008 asks again, his dark eyes fixed on his fellow agent, his arm still wrapped around R’s lithe body.  
  
“Wanted to return my equipment to Q,” André says, taking the useless Walther out of his jacket pocket. “Where is he?”  
  
“He went home,” R says, worrying his lip as he tries to pull his shirt back over his shoulder. “He said he wasn’t feeling well,”  
  
André raises an eyebrow. The Quartermaster is notorious for working through any illness. The couch in his office is there for such purposes. André remembers the time that he came in with a bloody lung infection and still powered through his paperwork whilst stocked up on decongestants and espressos. “Not feeling well?”  
  
“I believe that Robin told you that the first time, André,” 008 says, his hand still on R’s shoulder.  
  
“And I’m sure that Robin wouldn’t want Q to know what he was doing in his office, with a double oh of all people. Semen on private documents is so hard to get off-”  
  
“What do you want, André?” 008 sighs.  
  
“Information,” André says with a smile. “You’re a hacker after all,” He drops his Walther into the metal tray next to Q’s desk.  
  
R raises an eyebrow at the double oh. “And you’ll tell Q if I don’t do as you ask? How original,”  
  
“You’re feisty. I can see why Antonio likes you,” The water-logged earwig also finds its way into the tray.  
  
“And you harbour a weird fascination with my boss, 006,”  
  
“I prefer the term concern, R, thank you,” André says, watching as R straightens his shirt and pulls the keyboard of Q’s computer closer. “I’m not telling you his name,”  
  
André smirks as he leans against the wall, watching the young man’s fingers dance over the keyboard. It’s not as magnetic as when he watches Q.

* * *

  
He finds himself standing outside some posh apartment in South Kensington, shaking his damp hair as he stares at the large oak door with the ornate door knocker. R had given up Q’s address pretty quickly, partly because of his skill of hacking (he was Q’s second in command for a reason) and presumably, he wanted to finish what he started with 008. It wasn’t really what André was expecting - of course, he wasn’t expecting some decrepid basement, but he wasn’t expecting this upscale place, Q must be paid handsomely for ensuring his agents get home safely.  
  
André tries not to think about why he’s here. He knocks on the door sharply and waits for a moment, a strange knot forming in his chest. Footsteps shuffle towards the door, picked up by sharp agent ears and André feels the breath fall from his chest as the door is opened. He expects to see a red nosed Quartermaster with mussed hair and askew glasses. The curly haired man with the tanned skin is certainly a surprise.  
  
“Can I help you?”  
  
The accent is distinctly Australian, André would pinpoint it as being near Perth. He’s tall, well-built, white teeth, stubble painting his cheeks. André suspects that R has tricked him. He’s going to kill that little bastard when he gets the chance - or at least force M to send 008 on a long reconnaissance mission.  
  
“Dan, who is at the door?” A voice that André recognises pipes up from inside the house. André knows that French lilt anywhere, he’s heard it in his ear during every mission he’s been on. He feels the blood freeze in his veins. The Australian man - Dan - is about to reply when André turns on his heel and disappears.  
  
“Who was it?” Q asks, brow furrowed.  
  
“Just some tall dude with greying hair,”  
  
Q sighs. “Was he wearing a nice tailored suit?”  
  
“I guess so. Friend of yours?”  
  
“I guess you could say that,”

* * *

  
André inevitably gets chewed out by M the next morning for not coming to debrief like he should have. He placates her with her favourite red wine he’d managed to pick up at the airport on the way back from Paris. She accepts it with a grimace and sends him on his way, threatening to hand him every mundane data stealing mission from now until ‘the day he decides to retire’. 

He leaves her office with his tail between his legs (proverbially, of course). His thoughts flicker to Q and to the man that he’d seen at the young man’s house last night. Maybe he was Q’s boyfriend? Q certainly had never displayed any interest in anyone at work, he endured the double ohs flirting with him on a regular basis - James and André were often the worse culprits and consequently the ones that always managed to get out of the office etiquette seminars M always seemed to organise. He didn’t even know Q was gay. André realised that he knew very little about the young man - he was French, that was evident from the accent, he owned a cat, he was incredibly dedicated to his job and he was older than most people expected. Other than that, the Quartermaster was a complete enigma.  
  
André soon finds himself in Q Branch and he’s not sure why. Maybe he wants to see if Q is any better? If he bares any evidence of Dan staying the night? He straightens his suit jacket and pastes on his best smile. Q Branch is bustling as usual and André’s eyes catch the sight of a few guns he would just love to play with.  
  
Q is in his office. He looks paler than usual, his hair as mussed as it always is and he’s wearing a rumpled suit that makes André raise an eyebrow.  
  
“Ah, 006. Thank you for returning your equipment, albeit soggy and waterlogged,” Q says, looking up from his laptop. “Though I seemed to notice that your radio was missing?”  
  
“It- ah, fell in the Seine,” André says quietly, worrying his lip. He’s trying not to glance at the younger man for any indication of love-making, be it lovebites or bruises - he’s not sure whether he’s relieved or annoyed when he finds none on Q’s pale neck.  
  
Q notices the awkward silence and glances back up from his code. “Are you really shocked by the sight of me in a suit, 006? You’re part of the reason I’ve got to meet up with M to discuss the extortionate budget of my department,”  
  
“You’re meeting up with M in that suit?” André asks, keeping his tone as neutral as possible, steering the conversation away from the double oh’s inclination to destroy all the equipment they’re provided with, especially him.  
  
“I didn’t have time to iron it this morning,”  
  
“I’m sure you didn’t,”  
  
“And you would know all about that wouldn’t you?” Q’s tone turns icy.  
  
“I wanted to make sure that you were okay, R said you weren’t feeling well,” The excuse doesn’t quite feel right in André’s mouth.  
  
“Well - as sweet as that was, 006, please don’t come to my house again. I don’t want to have to lie to Dan anymore than I already do,”  
  
“He doesn’t know what you really do?” André is genuinely surprised. MI6 does allow close members of family, and partners to be aware of their status if they choose to reveal it.  
  
“I’m one of MI6’s highest level operatives so I can’t take that chance,” Q says, pushing a hand through his mussed hair. “You never know who you can trust,”  
  
André doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he chooses to leave the Quartermaster to his code and finally visit M to be chewed out for screwing up the mission so badly.

* * *

  
As expected, M is _angry_ . He expected this - but it’s different to hear her voice sound so full of disappointment and frustration that one of her best agents couldn’t execute a simple mission.  
  
“You lost the mark, Lotterer! And then, proceeded to ruin half of your equipment - equipment may I add that cost hundreds of pounds in development!”  
  
“In my defence, she was smarter than she looked. She realised that she was being played and then threw me in the river-”  
  
“Why do you always manage to cause trouble? You’re lucky that I don’t pull you from active duty,”  
  
André worries his lip. He knows that his record isn’t the best of late, but he can’t stand to be grounded. He’s a double oh, it’s in his blood to be busy, to have missions to undertake. “In my defence, I wanted this one to run smoothly,”  
  
M is about to respond when Preston enters the room with a chalk white face, carrying a mountain of paperwork that no doubt requires her signature. “Ma’am, your presence is required in Q Branch,”  
  
M raises an eyebrow. “Why would I be needed in Q Branch?”  
  
“It’s 007, Ma’am.”  
  
The colour drains from M’s face as she stands up, her chair scraping along the wooden floor. André isn’t far behind her. He knows that James is currently on a delicate mission in Riyadh, trying to foil some trafficking ring that has infiltrated the entire country. He doesn’t know much more than that. Double-ohs tend to be left in the dark about other missions conducted, even one his best friend is conducting - the only people privy to such knowledge are M, Preston and Q.  
  
M immediately finds her way down to the darkened corridors of Q Branch, André following her silently with interest. She steps through the double doors - but the silence that usually greets her is replaced with a buzz of noise. The minions, as they are lovingly referred to by the rest of MI6 are rushing about, talking in hushed whispers. Q’s not in his office as usual - instead, he’s still seemingly in the same position he was when André had left days earlier. He’s wearing different clothes - a rumpled suit that André has never seen before - but still looks harried and stressed, speaking into his headset as his long fingers fly over the keyboard of his laptop. There’s a half empty cup of coffee at his elbow.  
  
“Status, 007.” Q says firmly, pausing for a moment.  
  
André feels his shoulders stiffen as he watches Q work, the rest of Q Branch scuttling around him, R looks an unpolished mess, his hair more mussed than it usually is. The more André looks, the more he notices how stressed the entire branch looks.  
  
“007’s position has been compromised. Q has been working for over thirty minutes to get him back,” R says, as he brushes back the pair on his way to refill Q’s now-cold cup of coffee.  
  
M bristles at the information and moves towards the harried head of department, her heels clacking on the floor. “Quartermaster,” She says, her voice full of steel. “Status report,”  
  
“Lost contact at 1800 hours. Initially, I thought that it might be a glitch in the system or perhaps a EMP sensor have been activated. But he didn’t respond to anything - both on his radio and his comms. I’ve been working around the clock to get him back. Tracker in his skin shows that he hasn’t moved from his current position.”  
  
André’s ice blue gaze glances at the map, to where the dot that signifies James flashes, unmoving. Q is quiet, the only sound is that of his pale fingers dancing over his keyboard.  
  
M moves towards the speaker set that Q sometimes use to communicate with the double-ohs, pressing down the button with a blood-red fingernail. “006. This is M speaking, status report immediately.”  
  
Silence hangs over Q Branch and André tries to ignore the flash of panic in M’s eyes at the sound. She turns to Q. “Any chance of hacking into the security mainframe and accessing the security cameras?”  
  
“Currently in the process of doing so, ma’am,” Q replies, pausing to take a sip of the cup of coffee at his side. He blanches for a moment - the liquid has presumably grown cold. It’s immediately taken out of his hand by a silent R, who replaces it with a fresh cup. Q continues to type, André’s eyes watching his fingers glide over the keys, inputting a code that only he would know.  
  
“Doesn’t usually take you this long, Quartermaster,” André mutters under his breath, only to be silenced by a glare from the younger man.  
  
“There isn’t usually so much encryption,” Q murmurs, the glare from his computer screen flashing across the lens of his glasses. “Should be in, any second now-”  
  
His fingers still on his keyboard as he bypasses the codes and the security camera footage flickers into light on the video screen hooked up to Q’s laptop. The young French man leans against his chair and takes a sip of his coffee as he, Q and André scan through the various cameras.  
  
“He should be on this one,” Q says, placing his mug down and focusing on one particular camera. “That’s where the signal is coming from-”  
  
Their eyes go to the particular screen - it’s shrouded partially in darkness, but there’s nothing in the frame, no blood, no crumpled body -  
  
“Where is he?” André mutters under his breath, eyes scanning over every inch of the screen. Q types something into his laptop and the image magnifies. “Where the fuck is he-”  
  
“006,” M’s voice is a warning.  
  
“Well, he’s supposed to be there-” André snaps.  
  
“Quiet,” Q snaps, eyes scanning over the screen, 007’s vitals in a pop-up box at the side of his laptop. “His vitals are showing that he’s still alive,”  
  
“What’s that?” R’s voice is quiet and timid, but it echoes through Q Branch. “In the bottom right hand corner,”  
  
Q’s eyes narrow and he types something to magnify the image further. The silence seems to intensify at the sight of the bloodied chip that was once embedded in 007’s shoulder lying innocuously on the floor.  
  
“Fuck-” André mutters under his breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck-”  
  
“006, calm down,” M says quietly, her eyes flickering from the image to the stressed agent. “It doesn’t mean anything,”  
  
It’s at that moment that all hell breaks loose. A siren suddenly goes off, and James’s vitals flash up on the large screen. André watches Q’s face go chalk white at the sight and he ducks his head down, frantically typing. The flashes become redder and angier, an indication of a dropping heart rate, pulse and oxygen intake. André can only watch in disbelief as the erratic neon line dictating James’s heart rate suddenly flatlines.

* * *

  
“006,” M’s voice cuts through the silence as André stalks away from the screens, his mouth set in a tight line. “André,” She says, a moment later, her voice softening. “Whatever you’re thinking-”  
  
“He’s not dead, Leena,” André snaps, ignoring the hush that rushes through Q branch at the sound of him addressing a superior by her name and not her designation.  
  
“006. He hasn’t moved for an hour. His vitals are non-existent. He’s gone.” Her voice is still calm and it annoys André to no end. He understands to some extent why she is behaving in such a manner, she is conditioned to remain emotionless to the loss of anyone, it’s normal within her position to have to bury colleagues and employees.  
  
“He’s not dead,” André repeats, eyes flickering over to the screen. “You really expect that he wouldn’t put up a fight?”  
  
“You saw the vitals, 006,”  
  
“I refuse to believe that,” André says as he turns on his heel. “I’m going to Riyadh and I’m bringing him back-”  
  
A firm hand catches his elbow. “My office now,” M’s voice is like her dark eyes, like carefully crafted steel.  
  
André allows himself to be guided to her office, her hand unwavering from his arm. He slides himself into the chair, anger evident on his face. “M-”  
  
“I understand you’re upset and that’s why I’m not punishing you for belittling me in front of the entirety of Q Branch, but you will never refer to me to my name again, 006-”  
  
“Fine. I’m sorry, I just need to get out there and find James-”  
  
M sighs heavily. “André. You’re not going anywhere. Do you know how sensitive relations in Riyadh are right now? I’m not sending my best agent in there-”  
  
“I have to know for sure,” André murmurs, hating the softness of his voice, the human edge that emerges from his usual stoic tone. “I have to know if there’s even the slightest chance-”  
  
“Negative, 006.” There’s an edge of something in M’s voice that the double-oh simply cannot place. “You’re staying grounded - the last thing I need is a rogue agent in an already politically sensitive situation. I already have C gunning for my arse.”  
  
“I don’t care about some pen-pusher-”  
  
“André,” He picks up the softness in her voice. “I know you and James had a close relationship and I understand, but I can’t authorise this-”  
  
“He’s not fucking dead!” André spits with fury as he stands up abruptly, the metal legs of the chair scraping across the floor.

“006, you need to calm down-” M’s tone becomes razor sharp.  
  
“Leena, I can’t when James could need my help-”  
  
“He’s dead, André!” She snaps finally, her eyes darker than he’s ever seen them. “He’s dead and you can’t bring him back!”  
  
André feels the words he wanted to respond with die in his throat as he turns on his heel and stalks out of M’s office wordlessly, his shoulders shaking with anger.  
  
He heads down to the gym, ready to burn off some of his frustrations. The gym is strangely empty, as though someone has informed everyone of an angry double-oh on the rampage, but the excessive exercise does nothing to calm his temper and he finds himself heading back down to Q branch.

* * *

  
Q Branch is empty - which isn’t out of the norm, but it’s strange to see so few people still working, heads buried in their work or typing at their laptops, attention fixed solely on the screen. It’s easy enough to spot Q still in his office, looking even more rumpled than he did earlier. There’s a mountain of paperwork in the tray next to him, and he seems to have fallen into a routine of just signing his name without even looking. André immediately spots that he signs every document with his designation - though he’s tried in vain to find out the young Quartermaster’s name, his attempts have remained elusive. André’s attention is immediately caught by the large assault rifle, presumably in the stages of development.  
  
“006, what can I do for you?” Q asks without even looking up.  
  
“I need your help,” André says, gaze unwavering from the assault rifle.  
  
Q sighs. “I assume that M told you that you weren’t going after James already,” He pushes his glasses further up his nose.  
  
“When do I ever listen to M?”  
  
“Maybe you don’t, but some of us answer directly to her. She’ll have my balls for Christmas decorations,”  
  
“Then I suggest you trust me for the sake of your balls, Q,”  
  
He can see Q’s walls begin to fall down. He knows he can be insistent at the best of times, but he needs the Quartermaster’s help. He’s always had a soft spot for him - and he’s well aware of it. He’s never used it to manipulate him - but he needs to now, he needs to be certain that James is dead. He can’t rely on simple vitals, on computer screens, not without concrete proof - James is better than that, he could have got out of the situation, faked his death to protect himself. He’s a double-oh after all, it’s what they’re trained to do.  
  
Q sighs heavily. “I’m not happy about this, 006.”  
  
“I have to know,” André repeats, glancing up at him. He knows the younger man can see something in his eyes, something that lurks beneath the surface. “I owe him that, at least,”  
  
“This is treason,” Q says quietly, glancing around his branch. “You want me to risk my career for you? Everything I am?”  
  
“I want you to trust me. I know how he thinks, he’s a double oh- we would do anything to survive. I know he’s not dead. I need to go off the grid.”  
  
“Okay, I’ll help,” Q says with a sigh.

* * *

  
“Name,” The crisp voice demands.  
  
“Alex Taylor,” is the thin, reedy reply through a mouthful of blood.  
  
The only sound is that of a fist meeting skin, a pained groan that splinters through the silence, the blood that hits the floor mixed in with saliva.  
  
“Liar,” The voice says, a veil of uncontained anger hidden underneath. “Name,”  
  
“Alex Taylor,”  
  
“I don’t like liars, James Rossiter,”  
  
“Then why did you ask?” James asks, glancing up at the other man through the tears, sweat and blood. The restraints cut hard against his already sensitive skin.  
  
He’s answered with another hit to the face. Another smear of blood blossoms against his skin and paints the wall.  
  
“Maybe we need to improve our torture methods,” The other man’s tone holds a touch of excitement, his dark eyes gleaming. “To loosen your tongue, 007,”  
  
“I look forward to it,” James says, his smile bloodied.  
  
There’s no answer, only a sharp razor-toothed smile.

* * *

  
It’s easy enough to acquire a fake passport and travel tickets to Riyadh. Q barely breaks a sweat as he hacks into the Saudi Arabia visa database to approve André’s application.  André watches as Q’s long delicate fingers sweep against the keyboard silently.  
  
“Don’t take the Aston to the airport. Get a taxi. Pay in cash. Your visa and tickets are all ready to be used.” Q says, finally looking up from his computer. He pulls the envelope out of his inner jacket pocket and hands it over to André. “Obviously, the smartblood tracker will show that you’re out of the country but I can manipulate it to my own means,”  
  
André smirks. “You’re such a clever boy,”  
  
Q raises an eyebrow. “I’d hardly say I’m a boy, 006. I’m twenty eight,” He looks down to his laptop again. “Once you’ve arrived at King Khalid airport, head for the car hire. I’ve already booked it through a separate server. It’s a unassuming car I’m afraid, you need to be incognito for this. I know it’s not really a word in a double oh’s repertoire.”  
  
“I can go incognito,”  
  
“Clearly,” Q says, pushing his glasses up onto his nose. “Obviously, with James’ vitals gone, the second tracker inside his body has now stopped working, but I should be able to provide you with his last known location based on where he was when it cut out-”  
  
“When do I fly out?”  
  
“This evening. Gives you enough time to feed some excuse to M about taking her advice and taking that time off-” He pauses, looking at André’s perplexed look. “You didn’t think I knew about that?”  
  
“Not really, no. I was going to ignore her advice anyway,” André says, worrying his lip. “So will you be able to cover for me?”  
  
“If the extraction goes to plan and you can locate him sooner rather than later. Timing is crucial, especially if he’s been subjected to torture-”  
  
André tries to maintain a nonchalant expression but Q can see right through it. Thankfully, he doesn’t mention it. “I will send you the co-ordinates when you land. And here-” He glances at the closed door for a moment before he slides over the sleek box. “Another palm-encoded Walther, radio with standard transmitter - however, this has been rerouted away from the MI6 servers. It also has a built-in explosive-”  
  
“You gave me an exploding radio?”  
  
The corner of Q’s mouth upturns ever so slightly. “Just a small explosive. Enough to destroy the technology so it can’t be linked back to MI6. James was already undertaking a sensitive mission, we don’t want to be seen as interfering further,”  
  
“You made me an exploding radio,” André repeats with a grin. “I could kiss you right now,”  
  
“I’d rather you didn’t,”  
  
“Ah yes, don’t want to step on _Dan’s_ toes,”  
  
Q’s cheeks turn pink. “Not that it’s any of your business, 006. But Dan and I are just friends,”  
  
“Friends, sure. When I’m ill, James comes around with some chicken soup to keep me company,”  
  
“006, I don’t need to-”  
  
“Chicken soup and a good fuck can really do wonders,”  
  
“006,” Q cuts him off hotly. “I’m not having this conversation with you. You don’t need to know anything about my personal life-”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Q sighs heavily, pinching his temples. “As strange as it may seem to you as a double oh, you don’t need to know my name or my sexuality. All that should matter to you is that I can do my job,”  
  
“You’re no fun sometimes,” André says, leaning back in the chair.  
  
“Can we get back to the logistics, 006? You need to be prepared as well as possible to avoid MI6 detection. Not that it matters, I’m sure that M will have my balls for Christmas decorations,”  
  
“You should have a little more faith in me,”  
  
“I’m putting my career on the line of an alcoholic, psychotic double oh agent,” Q mutters under his breath. “God help me,”

* * *

  
James bites back another groan as the droplet above him grows fatter. He watches it carefully as there’s nothing else to give his attention to. It swells bigger before it finally loosens from the bucket. He feels the wet droplet collide with his already soaked skin, feeling the urge to scream.  
  
They’d tried a variety of methods - sleep and food deprivation, waterboarding, beating his face to a bloody pulp to name a few. He tenses slightly as he tries to struggle against his leather bindings. They’re pulled tight, rubbing his already sensitive skin raw.  
  
Another droplet forms.James bites down on his lip, his nail-less fingers scrambling against the wood as it grows bigger and bigger.  When it falls onto his head, it breaks the silence ensconced in the room. He feels the familiar metallic taste of blood fill his mouth.

* * *

  
André half expects Preston to be waiting for him at the arrivals gate at King Khalid Airport, but there’s nobody to be seen apart from a few civilians clearly waiting for family and a few taxi drivers waiting with placards. He was surprised that M had accepted his request for a break - he’d fed her some lines about just needing some time off and surprisingly, she’d bought it. The hire car he’s given is as Q said, inconspicuous - it’s a Nissan, a fair few years old, perfect for remaining under the radar - even if André misses power steering.  
  
He calls Q from his burner phone the second he arrives in his hotel. It’s not the five star ones he’s used to, but he’s hoping that it will be a flying visit.  
  
“Q,” He says simply, keeping his voice low.  
  
There’s a muffled curse on the other end of the line and the unmistakable sound of a door closing, before a light thump as Q presumably settles himself into his chair and begins frantically typing. “006, I see you have arrived,”  
  
“How did you-”  
  
“I booked your flights, you know. That, and I have the smartblood programme loaded up right now.”  
  
“Right, so what’s the plan?”  
  
“Well, you managed not to attract any attention which buys us a little more time. I’ve managed to throw M off the scent of supervising you whilst you’re in Riyadh by saying I need more time to complete the budget proposals for next week.” Q pauses for a moment. “Sorry, got sidetracked. I’ve sent the last known location of 007 to your tablet. I’ve also taken the liberty of providing you with a map detailing all the known warehouses and abandoned buildings in that area. Though I should warn you 006, I have kept checking his vitals and all I’ve gotten is radio silence-”  
  
“He’s not dead, Q. It’s not so easy to kill us, you of all people should know that,”  
  
“M is recruiting another agent she hopes to replace 007,”  
  
André remains silent for a moment. “I’m going to find him,”  
  
Neither of the man mention that the double oh never mentioned if James was dead or alive, but the statement still hangs in the air like a radio silence.

* * *

  
“They’ve forgotten about you, James,” The voice cuts through the silence. It sounds so real, so razor sharp. “They’re not looking for you. They know you’re alive and they’re leaving you here to rot.”  
  
He’s not sure how long he’s been here for - the hours seem to melded together, every minute passing by with a simple droplet of water hitting his forehead. He’s been tortured many times before - but nothing has ever been like this.  
  
He tries to stay silent, his water-covered lips pursed over bloodied teeth. “You’re always scared that nobody will remember you aren’t you, James?”  
  
More silence. It’s pointless to argue with the voice when it’s only sound in the room, other than the dripping water.  
  
“You’ll be replaced. It’s easy to replace double ohs these days, especially one as careless as you. Nobody will remember you, you’ll just become a name on a stone. Do you want that, James?”  
  
He feels a whimper bubble past his lips at the mere thought. Another droplet lands on his forehead, wet, cold, still forgotten like he will be at the end of this torture.  
  
“Thought you were supposed to be an agent?” The voice says with a touch of glee. “Can’t handle a little water? You’re a terrible double oh. The world would be better off without you wouldn’t it?”  
  
Another droplet of cold water slaps his skin.  
  
“I bet you wish you were dead,”  
  
James wrenches open his eyes to find the room empty.

* * *

  
Finding James’s last known location is easy enough. Following the co-ordinates to a run-down part of town, he finds the warehouse that is known to MI6 for been one of the hotbeds of the operation that James was trying to unfoil. André enters the warehouse silently, like a panther, his Walther held tightly in his grip.  
  
“Status report, 006.” Q’s voice is quiet and calm in his ear.  
  
“At the warehouse,” André says quietly. “It’s long been vacated but they could have left some clue as to where they went next. James isn’t here at least-” He pauses for a moment.  
  
“What’s wrong 006?”  
  
There’s no answer for a moment, the only sound is that of a sharp intake of breath. André can hear Q’s frantic typing on the other end of the earpiece. He kneels down, snagging the tracking chip from the dried blood on the floor.  
  
“006-”  
  
“I found the tracking chip. Serial number matches those issued to MI6,” André says, holding up to the dim light. “Can’t see anything else around here though,”  
  
“I doubt they will have left many clues in the actual building, but I was researching into who owns the lease. It’s owned by a businessman called Alejandro Agag. Very shady character going by the looks of things. He has a dummy corporation called Spark Resources and when I’ve done a little further digging, it doesn’t actually exist.”  
  
“You think it’s a ruse for the trafficking?”  
  
“Could be. He owns three other buildings in the area. I’ll send you directions to all three. There’s a possibility that James could be held in one of them….but I have a strange feeling.”  
  
“What do you mean?” André says with a furrowed brow as a small shuffling sound cuts through the silence.  
  
“I think this goes beyond a simple neutralising order to stop the agent from closing the net around their illicit activities. It’s bigger than that-”  
  
However, after André can quiz Q further, there’s a sudden pressure against his neck. He can hear Q’s panicked voice in his ear for a moment before the earwig is knocked loose. He manages to kick at his attacker’s leg, loosening the pressure around his neck for a moment.  
  
“Another agent,” The voice growls against his ear. “MI6 certainly are stupid aren’t they? Sending another agent for us to neutralise. Maybe they’re trying to cull their double ohs hmm?”  
  
André snarls against the ligature. He can feel it pushing against his skin - smooth, cold - presumably leather. He kicks out again, hoping to catch the other man’s knee again but he only hits thin air. He struggles further, trying to push his attacker into the wall in an attempt to wind him.  
  
“Ah, the infamous André Lotterer,” The voice purrs. “I wonder if you’re going to beg for your life like your friend did,”  
  
André lets out an pained yell as the ligature tightens further. He can’t let James down, he can’t leave Q back in London facing M’s wrath. Dark spots begin to decorate his vision as he fights for breath, the ligature growing tighter. He can hear Q’s voice in the earwig, just audible.  
  
“I expected an agent of your calibre to put up more of a fight,” The voice hisses and it’s enough for André to pull back his elbow and drive it into the other man’s stomach.  
  
The ligature loosens ever so slightly and André takes the opportunity to elbow the man again, forcing him to double over in pain. “The elbow, underrated but one of the most dangerous parts of the body,” André says hoarsely. He immediately has his Walther out and pointing at the man in seconds.  
  
“You’re going to tell me where the agent you captured is being held,”  
  
The man laughs. “He’s dead, agent. Like you will be shortly,”  
  
“I don’t doubt it,” André says with a smile, the gun unwavering. “Unfortunately, you’ll not be here to witness it,”  
  
There isn’t a shred of fear on the man’s face. He stands ramrod straight as though ready to face his execution. André knows that he won’t break under his usual interrogation methods - and frankly, there’s no time to complete them, not with MI6 unable to offer any support.  
  
He pulls the trigger.  
  
The man falls down like a marionette with his strings cut, the bullet straight between his eyes. André steps to the side and retrieves his earwig from the floor. “Q. Target neutralised.”  
  
“006. Manage to get any additional information?” Q asks, his tone not giving anything away.  
  
“No. He wasn’t going to tell me anything. Made any headway with any leads on your end?”  
  
“Only the information I sent you - but I’m not sure about this. Having minimal support is dangerous, André-”  
  
André feels the smile brush against his lips. “You called me André,”  
  
“A slight misdemeanor,”  
  
“Sure, whatever you say,” André says as he pockets his Walther and James’ chip.

* * *

  
M is already in a bad mood when the sharp rap on her door cuts through the silence she needs to comply her end of year business reports. She knows that knock too well - that knock that has haunted her for the past few months.  
  
“Come in,” She uses her most annoyed tone, putting down her fountain pen as she fights the urge to sigh as C enters the room. He’s dressed as usual in his smart designer suit, a perk of a high wage packet from MI6, his hair coiffed perfectly as usual.  
  
“Ahh, Leena, good to see you,”  
  
“C, always a pleasure,” She says frostily.  
  
“I wish I could say the same,” C says with a dangerous smile.  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“You have a rogue agent traipsing around Riyadh,”  
  
M feels her mouth drop open. “007 has been found?”  
  
“Unfortunately not” C says, sliding the manila folder forward. “Seems 006 didn’t go on the break that you intended for him,” The corner of his lips upturns as M opens the file to see André in the glossy photographs in one of his Armani suits, a Walther clearly visible in his hand. “Killed a man in the early hours of the morning. I was immediately alerted to it due to the sensitive nature of Saudi Arabia politics at the moment. Bullet pulled from victim was not MI6 issued,”  
  
“If you’re trying to imply that one of my agents has gone rogue-”  
  
“Leena,” C says, leaning forward. “Look at the evidence. He tells you he wants to retrieve a fellow agent, an agent who is dead by the way, and you tell him that the answer is no. He tells you that he needs a break and disobeys your orders,”  
  
“What do you want, Daniel?”  
  
The Australian smiles. “I want the double oh programme destroyed. It’s clear that they pose more of a threat than what you claim they neutralise,”  
  
“Then you know that this conversation is pointless,” M says, eyes narrowed.  
  
“Why are you so eager to protect them? You know as well as I do that they’re a liability. It’s obvious from the fact you’ve not noticed one of them wandering around Riyadh with a gun,”  
  
“Why are you so intent in destroying one of Britain’s best lines of defence and central intelligence?” M counters, leaning forward, her dark eyes locked with the man. She spots a tiny crack of weakness in his mask of confidence. “Did I hit a sore spot?”  
  
C blinks and the crack disappears as quickly as it showcased itself. “Of course not. I’m just here to do a job, like you’re supposed to be,”  
  
M raises an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting that I am incompetent, Daniel?”  
  
“Never, ma’am,” C’s tone doesn’t truly sound believable. “Although I must say that I find it completely incomprehensible that the leader of MI6 doesn’t know where her agents are.”  
  
Silence breaks through M’s office. “Also, where is this agent getting his support from? Q Branch never reported any missing equipment. So not only are we dealing with a rogue agent - but also a member of staff going down the same route. Any ideas?”  
  
“None at all,” M says, keeping her tone nonchalant.  
  
“Very well,” C says, closing the file. “Well, I have an important appointment with the Prime Minister. Urgent business you know. I’ll let you keep this,” He slides it over the desk and stands up, shrugging on his peacoat.  
  
M waits for C to leave her office and the door to close fully behind him before she buzzes through to Preston.  
  
“Yes, ma’am?” His calm voice filters through the speaker.  
  
“Send the Quartermaster up to my office immediately.”

* * *

  
Another droplet drips onto his forehead. He tries to prepare himself for the next droplet, but nothing helps. Despite the continual pattern, he still grips the sides of the table he’s strapped to with the tip of his fingers, pain scraping through his destroyed fingernails, an earlier attempt to torture him.  
  
“James?” The voice sounds like André - remarkably like André. He bites down on his bloodied lip, his eyes still screwed tightly shut. “James, it’s okay,”  
  
“No,” James whispers hoarsely. “You’re not real,”  
  
“I’m very real,” There’s the chuckle that James remembers so well.  
  
“You’re not real,” James repeats to himself. “I know you better than anyone,” Another droplet hits his forehead.  
  
“Then why won’t you look at me? Are you ashamed of me? Are you ashamed of what you’ve become?”  
  
“No-never-”  
  
“Honesty was never your strong point, James.” André says playfully. There’s a slight pause. “You know you’re probably going to die here, alone. That was always your greatest fear wasn’t it? Being alone? You’re like me in that sense, I hate being lonely too. It’s the only reason that I share a bed with you-”  
  
“Shut up!” James screams out, his voice cracking as he forces his eyes open to see the empty room.

* * *

  
“I told you to be nonchalant,” Q whispers under his breath, typing frantically into his laptop as he hacks into records and CCTV. “Killing someone is going to make people take notice,”  
  
“I couldn’t exactly let him go, could I? He would have ran back to his superiors and we’d never find James.”

Q takes off his glasses, massaging his temples. He can feel the beginnings of a migraine coming on but he’s choosing to ignore it. “But now there’s greater chance of us being caught-”

“We knew it was a possibility,” André says, his voice calm. “So next plan of action?”  
  
“You need to investigate the empty buildings of interests that I’ve sent you. Time is of the essence. I’m certain that the group behind this is aware of your presence and if they know, it’s only a matter of time before-” He pauses.  
  
“Before what?” André presses. “Q, before what?”  
  
Q’s next words make him pause.  
  
“Preston,” Q says slowly, pulling the earwig out of his ear. “I was just testing the new earwig that I hope will be mandatory for all agents on the field,” He hopes that his voice is steady and calm, not a trace of guilt hidden within it. “What can I do for you?”  
  
“M needs to see you immediately in her office,” Preston’s voice gives nothing away.  
  
André hears Q lock his laptop before his chair scrape against the floor before footsteps fall away into the background. There’s a lump of something he can’t place in his chest - a sense of foreboding that he simply can’t shake off.

* * *

  
Preston is silent as he leads Q through Q Branch and up to M’s office. He raps twice on the door sharply, waiting for her permission.  
  
“Come in,” The voice behind the door is calm. Preston opens the door for Q and allows him to step through the entrance before nodding once at his superior and closing the door tightly behind him.  
  
“Take a seat, Quartermaster,” M’s tone betrays nothing. “Would you like some tea?”  
  
Q ignores her question. “Why have you asked me to come here?” He realises that the screen behind M has the smart-blood system open. His blood chills at the sight of André’s name, reading his location as being in Riyadh.  
  
“I think you know the answer to that question, Jean-Eric,” She says in a soft tone. Her dark eyes fix on him for a moment as she picks up her own cup of tea. “Now sit,”  
  
Q sinks wordlessly into the chair his eyes fixed on M sipping from her china cup. “Now,” She lowers the cup. “Why did you allow a double oh to enter an already politically unstable country without my consent?”  
  
Q opens his mouth to reply, but M seems to anticipate his answer and slides over a manila folder, flipping open the cover. Q stares in horror at photographs of André clearly lifted from the few days he’s been stationed in Riyadh. Some are clearly camera shots, others are clearly from other sources. “I have no idea where he is-”  
  
“At first, I wondered why 006 would ever ask for time off. And I will admit, at first it didn’t click. You didn’t use our network to communicate with him did you?”  
  
Silence.  
  
“Answer me, Quartermaster,”  
  
“No, ma’am,” Q’s voice is almost inaudible. “I used my own server and routers to avoid detection. I made sure to supply 006 with non-MI6 weapons so nothing could be traced back to the agency,”  
  
“Why does that matter, Quartermaster?” M asks, her voice barely holding down her fury. “His license to kill is void when he’s not carrying out MI6 business. He killed a man,”  
  
“I know-” The words leave his mouth before he can stop himself. “I warned him against drawing too much attention but you know what 006 is like-”  
  
“You have no idea how much trouble you’re in, do you?” M pushes her cup to one side. “You have endangered our relationship with the Saudis. You put one of my best agents into the field without no support.”  
  
“He wanted to find James,”  
  
“James is dead, Quartermaster,” M says with unadulterated fury. “We would have organised an extraction mission when relations improved,”  
  
“André wasn’t willing to wait. I understand that it was a risk but I had to know for sure-”  
  
M slams her fist on the table. “That wasn’t your decision to make, Jean-Eric! Do you know how much pressure I’m under at the moment? I have a government official who wants to destroy the double oh programme and yourself and 006 have succeeded in giving everything he needs to show the Prime Minister it’s corrupted,”  
  
Q swears under his breath. “I didn’t know about that,”  
  
“Because I was hoping to shut it down before it proceeded further. Now we have a rogue agent out in Riyadh,”  
  
Q’s head whips up at his superior’s words. “Rogue? André isn’t rogue, he’s just trying to get his friend back-”  
  
“MI6 never authorised this mission, Jean-Eric,” M says quietly. “It’s conducted solely out of his own selfish interests, not those of the queen and country he promised that he’d protect,”  
  
Q feels sick. “So what happens now?”  
  
“You’re suspended, pending further investigation. We will send an extraction team to get André out of Riyadh and most likely, he will be suspended too until further notice.”  
  
“Is that all?” Q says, the bile rising up in his throat, his voice holding steady.  
  
“That’s all,” M replies. She opens her mouth as though to say something sympathetic but thinks twice about it and finishes with a simple. “Thank you, Quartermaster.”

* * *

  
“Q?” André calls out, trying to keep calm. He tries to keep the thread of panic out of his voice as he’s met with silence. He can hear the muffled voices of Q and Preston before the footsteps fade away and the door closes. He curses under his breath. What if they’ve been found out? What if he wasn’t careful enough? With the thought in his mind, he pulls out his tablet and glances at the buildings of interest that Q has sent him. One is just around the corner from the hotel he’s staying in.  
  
“Suppose I better get to work,” He says under his breath, pulling on his coat to stave off the slight chill of the evening. He knows it’s dangerous to venture out on mission without backup, but he has no choice. Time is against him now with Q out of action and the men who have James aware of his attention.  
  
It’s easy enough to break into the building. He tries to breath slowly, his hand wrapped around his Walther as he stalks through the darkened rooms, listening for any sounds that may point him in the right direction. But the building remains silent. He makes a thorough sweep before exiting the building twenty minutes later, mentally scoring it off the list. There’s another two properties that might be of interest in the area, however, and since André is certain that M has found out where he really is, he hasn’t got long before she’s dragging his ass back to London and all hope of finding James is gone.  
  
The second building is a little further away and looks a little more promising. It still looks empty inside but André looks that appearances can be deceiving. He enters the building slowly, making sure not to make any sound. It’s critical that he remain undetected for long as possible, as he is functioning without any support.  
  
“006, status report,” Q’s calm voice calls out of his pocket. He curses under his breath, shoving the earwig into his ear.  
  
“Q, what’s going on?”  
  
“Mission’s compromised 006. You need to work quickly. M’s onto you, and thanks to the smart-blood, she knows exactly where you are,”  
  
“I’m not worried about M,” André says quietly. “I can deal with that - wait, how did you manage to contact me?”  
  
“I’m the Quartermaster, 006. The network we’re communicating on isn’t a MI6 channel. M sent me home but I managed to use my own computers to hack into my own servers to contact you,”  
  
“M sent you home?”  
  
“Yep,” Q pops the p in the word. “My career is in the bin, I am assuming that yours will follow,”  
  
“Q-”  
  
“Forget about it for now. Any luck on the buildings of interest?”  
  
“First one was empty. No sign of activity. Heading into the second one right now,”  
  
Q is silent for a moment. “Very well, 006. I’ll be in your ear the entire way,”  
  
André smiles. “Very well,”  
  
The second building is a bust. It’s been clearly empty for some time. André steps out onto the pavement with a heavy heart. What if they never find James? What if they’re too late? What if - He shakes the thoughts away, as though to dispel them. He can’t afford to think that way. He picks up his pace, ready to search the final building on their list. He can’t bear to think about what it might meant if this one is empty.

* * *

  
More droplets. He’s not sure how long he’s been here for. He thought that somebody might have found him by now. Where was James? Why hadn’t anyone found him? He knows that his tracker had been torn out but surely, someone would come?  
  
“They’ve all left you, haven’t they Jimmy boy?” The voice comes back.  
  
He hates the voice. He hates the cocky tone it has, that he can’t quite place who it belongs to.  
  
“Why can’t you just admit that nobody cares?” The voice continues, the vowels curling in the air. It’s almost purring with satisfaction. “Why would anyone care about you? Your parents never did, André doesn’t either-”  
  
“Leave me alone!” James whimpers, finally unable to stop his ignorance. He wrenches open his eyes to see a man standing in the room.  
  
“What-” He begins through cracked, bleeding lips.  
  
“Are you ready to give up your secrets, agent?” The man asks, his voice bouncing off the wet walls. He approaches the table, his hand moving to curl through James’s hair. “Are you really willing to die for your loyalty to a cause that is so corrupt?”  
  
James has no answer.

* * *

  
M has a migraine coming on, she’s certain of that. She’s been here for far too long trying to sort out the mess that André and the Quartermaster have managed to create. It’s taken her four hours to arrange the extraction process to bring her wayward agent back. She can’t have C destroy one of their strongest weapons.  
  
She’s signed off the last of the paperwork and returns to her office to retrieve her coat and handbag. However, when she steps through the door, she’s surprised to see C sitting at her desk - sitting on _her chair_ .  
  
“Oh, I wasn’t expecting to see you back here so soon,” She tries to keep her tone slightly bored.  
  
“I had to speak with you, urgently,” C says with a razor-toothed smile as he sinks back into the chair.

* * *

  
“Where are you 006?” Q’s voice rings out in his ear as he approaches the building.  
  
“The last destination. Looks the same as the others-” He pauses for a moment as he sees it out of the corner of his eye. The flicker of a light.  
  
“006?”  
  
André knows he shouldn’t ignore the Quartermaster but the possibility of finding James inside is a greater desire than answering the young French man. Holding his breath, his hand finds his Walther as he moves closer to the entrance.    
  
The door is easy enough to bypass. It takes about a minute to pick the lock (which is a little sloppy by his standards, his record is twenty seconds but the lock was stiff, he reasons.) Stepping inside, he can see the source of the light.  
  
His footsteps barely make a sound against the tiles. His mouth is dry, his tongue like a weight against his mouth, his heart barely rising above his typical resting rate - he can still feel every beat shake his ribcage as he moves slowly towards the open door. His palms are not sweaty, they’re steady - fingers wrapped around his palm-encoded Walther.  
  
He can hear the hushed voices, the arrogance and certainty in their tones. It’s something he’s heard a thousand times before. He can’t help but smirk as his finger finds the trigger of his gun in anticipation.  
  
“How long do you think we have until Lotterer finds us?”  
  
“Not much longer. I expected him to find us more quickly, but not to worry, I’m sure that Rossiter won’t hold out much longer. He’s hallucinating all the time now,”  
  
André bites down on his lip, his hand tightening around his Walther in anger. There’s a sense of relief that flood through his body. Rossiter won’t hold out much longer. James is _alive_. After the moment has passed, he begins to think logically. He currently has the element of surprise  but he has no idea of how many men are in the room and what kind of weapons they have.

He could ask Q but he’s sure he would be heard. He slowly removes his earwig from his ear, his other hand firmly gripping his gun as he taps out morse code against the metal, hoping that Q will get the message. 

  
He pauses for a moment before lifting the earwig up to his ear. He hears fast-paced typing for a moment before the answer is tapped back.  
  
_Based on the heat signatures, there’s four men in there. There’s another in the basement alone._  
  
André feels his heart leap. _James._ _  
_ _  
_ _If you move backwards, there should be a set of stairs to your right. Fourteen steps. He’s held in the room at the bottom of the stairs._  
  
It’s easy enough to move away from the doorway where the men are currently held and follow Q’s tapped instructions. The stairs are difficult to navigate in the dark, his heart threatening to rip itself out of his chest. But he presses on, ignoring the slight shake in the hand holding his Walther, wondering what condition he’s going to find James in.  
  
_Calm down, André._ Q taps out against his earwig. _  
_ _  
_ André takes a deep breath as he reaches the bottom of the stairs and faces the door. He knows that James is behind there, that he’s mere feet away from the man he considers his best friend. He only wishes that he could have found him faster. Pushing the thoughts away, he reaches out to turn the handle. The only sound is that of the lock unlatching. André tries not to dwell on the silence too much. He gently pushes the door open with bated breath, waiting to see what he will witness on the other side -

* * *

  
“What are you doing here, Mr Ricciardo?” M asks the tall man, still slumped in her chair with a smile on his face.  
  
“I submitted a report to the Prime Minister, about the withdrawal of the double oh programme. I’m expecting to have an answer fairly soon,”  
  
“Why would you come all the way here to tell me this? You are aware that I can make a report countering every single one of your arguments and have it in the Prime Minister’s office first thing tomorrow morning,”  
  
C laughs. “Ahh, Leena,” He says, leaning forward. “I have always loved that ruthless side of you. It’s a shame that the intellectual side is non-existent,”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“You really have no idea, do you?”  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Ricciardo. But I want you to leave my office immediately. You have no business been here,”  
  
“Oh, but I think I do, Leena,” C says with a smirk as he pushes open her drawer and pulls out the Beretta she keeps in there for protection. “Now sit down, we have things to discuss,”  
  
M sinks in the chair opposite the young man with a sense of trepidation.

* * *

  
The basement room is filled with sterile light that makes the blood staining the walls look darker, the dirt encrusted into every tile more prominent. But the light can’t disguise the form of James lying, strapped on the table, motionless.  
  
André curses under his breath as he moves towards the younger agent, tears springing up in his eyes as he lifts a hand to gently brush through the matted, bloody hair.  
  
“James, I-” He whispers, glancing over the pale face, the sunken cheeks, the water-logged hair. He spots the bucket, now empty, and his heart sinks. Torture hurts - of course it does - but they’re trained to deal with it. Water torture is one method that they just can’t withstand, eventually it can turn anyone insane. André stares at James’s motionless face, his eyes scanning over his entire body as he notes the ripped-off fingernails, the bruises all over his skin slowly fading into purple and yellow, the blood on his shirt-

He notices James’s eyes fluttering at his touch. 

“James?” He whispers tentatively, relief flooding through his veins. “James, can you hear me?”  
  
James’s eyes snap open and as he takes in André’s mirage, he screams.

* * *

  
“Why are you doing this, Daniel?” M asks, the gun still trained on her. 

C lets out a long chuckle. “Oh my dearest Leena,” He says with a whistle. “You had no idea did you? I was the one who arranged for dear 007 to be captured whilst in Riyadh. See, I know all about him and André. It helps to have insider information-”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Oh, don’t worry. You don’t have a mole per se, just a lonely Quartermaster. You really should have kept a better eye on him. In the end, it was easy to get the information I needed - poor Jev pining over a man he could never have-”  
  
“You bastard,” M cuts in, her voice venomous.  
  
“So touchy,” C says, waving the gun around. “You see after I arranged the capture of James, your dear agent 006 did the rest. It was easy enough to make him go to Riyadh to retrieve his treasure. Ensuring that the Quartermaster was suspended and away from the building to avoid detection was just the cherry on top. It left you completely exposed and defenceless,” He says with a wide grin. “Just me, you and your gun now, Leena,”

* * *

  
“James, James,” André whispers under his breath, his hand still brushing through the matted mess of hair. “I’m here,”

“No,” James whimpers. “You’re not real, just another trick-”  
  
“I’m not a trick. It’s really me,” He pleads, trying to keep his voice gentle, wary of the voices above them.  
  
“No,” James wrenches his head away. “You left me, left me here to die-”  
  
“I would never,” André whispers. “Remember when we both passed our double oh assignments? We partied so hard that M never let us go back to Zurich ever again,”  
  
“No, not real-”  
  
“Or when you managed to get Preston drunk at the Christmas party? Do you remember? He stood on the table with his tie around his head singing Queen,”  
  
James replies with a scream.  
  
André bites down on his lip as he watches his friend completely unravel, falling apart at the seams. He hears hushed voices, footsteps on the stairs leading down to the basement. He readies his Walther, steady on the door.

* * *

  
“Why?” M asks, glancing up at the man still sitting in her chair. “Why on earth would you go to so much effort?”  
  
“Why?” C asks, his voice holding a touch of fury. “ _Why?_ Do you remember the explosion four years ago? The breach in security?”  
  
M nods once. It had not been her finest moment. They had lost a great number of people in the explosion, including Q’s predecessor.  
  
“Sebastian Vettel. You won’t remember him, even though his name is on this building,” C says, his voice slightly melancholy. “But I do,” Brown eyes lock on her. “He was my partner, the love of my life. I was planning on asking him to marry me, I’d got the ring and everything. We were happy - until that day. He was killed in the explosion and I lost everything,”  
  
M remains silent.  
  
“So I vowed to destroy you for ruining my future, Leena. I bided my time, let you think that you were safe. A false sense of security makes anyone foolish wouldn’t you say?” He pauses, but the woman in front of him says nothing. “MI6 is a corrupt organisation and you’re at the heart of it. And you know that saying, if you have a cancer, you cut it out,”  
  
“Why did you get the Quartermaster involved?” M finally says, her tone still calm in spite of the gun pointed to her.  
  
C laughs again. “This is your problem, Leena. You become far too attached to people in your life. He was easy. It was easy to obtain information from him, all these little stories about Olivia and Andrew and John. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that André was your biggest asset. I knew that if you believed that he went rogue, well, the rest would take care of itself. You surpassed my expectations,”

* * *

  
André shoots the first man through the door without hesitation. He crumples like a marionette with its string cut, blood trickling out of the hole in his forehead. The other two men pause at the door, eyes wide as they stare into the blue eyes of one of the most deadliest double ohs.  
  
“Gentlemen, nice to finally meet you,” André says with a smile. “Unfortunately, this is a flying visit. I’ve got what I came for,” He glances over at James, still motionless on the table. André doesn’t hesitate as he fires at the second man, watching as he crumples to the floor, leaving a solitary man standing at the door.  
  
“Lotterer,” He says, his tone full of malice. “We have been expecting you,”  
  
“I must admit I was expecting more of a fight,” André admits quietly, staring around the room.  
  
The man laughs. “You were wrong, Lotterer. You see, you were never the intended target, neither was that pathetic excuse for an agent next to you,”  
  
André snarls at the comment, cocking his gun. “Talk,”  
  
“You are really that stupid aren’t you?” The man laughs. “Typical agent. What would be the point of neutralising two double oh agents? You’re easily replaced. No, our plan involved someone of a little more importance-”  
  
André feels his blood run cold.  
  
“Leena-” He murmurs.

* * *

  
M sinks back into the chair. “So all of this is to prove that you loved someone? You’re willing to kill, to become a monster for the sake of revenge?”  
  
“A monster?” C says, shaking his head. “I’d hardly call myself a monster,”  
  
“You really think that Sebastian would want to see what you’ve become? What you done in his name?”  
  
“Don’t say his name!” C snarls, his eyes dark with fury. “You are not worthy of speaking his name. You probably didn’t even know it until I told you,”  
  
“So what is your plan?” M continues, her voice steady. “You kill me, you get rid of the double oh programme by painting my agents as rogue. Kill everyone who is loyal to me?”  
  
“Oh, Leena,” C says, shaking his head. “The double oh neutralisation programme was just a ruse. Although I must admit, it is rather tempting to ruin your legacy.”

* * *

  
“So we have a mole in MI6, I assume?” André says, glancing around the room as though he’s bored. “Not easy to get two double ohs who are loyal to M out of the way is it?”  
  
“Ah, easier than you think. C managed to get some lovely insider information,”  
  
“C?” André repeats in disbelief. “C? The pen pusher that M has been going on about for weeks? The one threatening my job?”  
  
“I don’t believe you had the pleasure of meeting my employer,” The man says with a smile. “And you never will. You’re loyal to her,” He pulls out his own gun, training it on James’s prone form which is currently silent.  
  
“Strange things, double ohs,” He continues. “They pretend that they do not care for anything, but in actual fact, they care about things more than most because they know how quickly they can lose them,”  
  
André ignores the man. “Q,” He says into the earwig. “Have you been listening?”  
  
“Indeed, 006. On my way to headquarters now to shut down the building. I’ve informed security who have dispatched the neutralisation sector,”  
  
“Why are you going to headquarters Q? It’s not safe,”  
  
“006, it’s quicker for me to shut down the building myself. Besides, half of the protocols won’t work without my passwords. I live five minutes away from the building, it isn’t far,”  
  
“How touching,” The man’s voice cuts over Q. “Unfortunately, it’s too late. C already has M and soon, she will be dead and a new era will take over, one that doesn’t cater to allowing innocent men to die.”  
  
André remains silent.

“The best part of this plan is that MI6 betrayed itself. That little Quartermaster of yours is certainly very clever, isn’t he? Shame he didn’t see what was directly under his nose. I think it would kill him to know that he was feeding information directly to C, don’t you?”

“Daniel-” André feels his blood run cold. He speaks into the earwig to try warn Q but there’s no response. Q must have disengaged the connection as he left to return to headquarters, presumably on the tube with no coverage.  
  
“Don’t bother. There’s nothing your Quartermaster can do. It’s M we want, the Quartermaster was just a pawn that we happened to use to get to her,”  
  
“Why do you want M?”  
  
“Why does anyone need a reason to destroy someone for taking away something they loved?” The man says with a smile.  
  
“Thank you,” André says, returning the smile.  
  
“For what?”  
  
“Giving me all the information I needed. Unfortunately, now I have no use for you,” He drawls out. The man’s eyes widen for a moment, but before he can even squeeze his own trigger, André has a bullet buried in his skull. The man collapses to the floor and André breathes a sigh of relief as he turns his attention back to James.  
  
“It’s going to be okay,” He murmurs, brushing his hand over the bloody, sweaty forehead of his best friend. “We’re going to be fine,”

* * *

  
“You really don’t have to do this, Daniel,” M says, her voice still calm and collected. She’s trying not to showcase any panic. The young man is like a caged animal, he’s waiting for the right opportunity, she can sense it.  
  
Before he can reply, the alarms begin to blare and the familiar sound of the metal shutters falling down on every single entrance out of the building rings through the silent office. C doesn’t appear bothered by the sound. He merely laughs as the lights flicker. “Ahh, my dear Quartermaster has returned to put in place the security protocols,”  
  
M says nothing, but can’t stop the small smile that brushes against her lips for a moment. Of course the Quartermaster could never stay away when MI6 is trouble.  
  
“It doesn’t matter anyway. I got what I came for,” C says, stretching out against the chair.  
  
“What about the Quartermaster?” M asks, her eyes locked on the gun still held in his hand.  
  
“What about him?”  
  
“Did you even care about him? Does he even know your true character?”  
  
C laughs again. “Leena, I do not concern myself with such trivialities. He served his purpose. I must admit, he is rather attractive-” He pauses for a moment as though in thought. “But he means nothing to me. He was just another stepping stone I could use to get closer to you,” He leans forward. “I cannot believe how easy it was to find you, it was all predictably moronic- but isn’t that what M stands for?” He asks, drawing the gun level. “Moron,”  
  
He pulls the trigger but nothing happens. The gun does not fire.  
  
“And now we know what C stands for,” M says, her eyes fixed on the gun. She holds her hand out, her palm visible.  
  
“Careless,” Q’s voice appears from the doorway. “I didn’t ever tell you about the palm-encoded guns I made, _Daniel_ ?” His voice is calm and collected as always, but M can sense the anger underneath. “Encoded to M’s palmprint so only she can fire it,”  
  
C curses under his breath. “I see you found out my other little identity, Jean-Eric,”  
  
“I had my suspicions that you weren’t who you said you were,” Q says, ignoring his name. “I never expected this,”  
  
“I suppose I should be flattered,” C says with a grin.  
  
“You’re surrounded, Daniel. Security are outside this office, ready to fire on M’s command. The game is over, I’m afraid,”  
  
C chuckles, shaking his head as he pulls himself out of the chair. “See, the thing about a great plan, Jean-Eric, is that if it doesn’t go well-” He drops the useless Beretta onto the floor where it slides along the tiles towards Q’s feet. “You always have a plan B,” He finishes as he wrenches M out of her chair, his elbow covering her neck. Another gun is pressed against her head. “Always carry a second gun in case of emergencies. I learnt that from those dear agents you love so much. And this gun, unfortunately, isn’t palm encoded so anyone can fire it,”  
  
Q leans down to pick up the discarded gun and points it at C, his grip wavering ever so slightly. “Let her go,”  
  
“I thought you were supposed to be intelligent, Quartermaster,” C sneers, pushing the barrel of the gun against the side of M’s head. “You can’t fire that gun either, you can’t touch me!”  
  
Q pulls the trigger before C can say another word. The bullet wound is merely a superficial one through his shoulder, but enough for him to release M and crumple to the floor.  
  
Silence brushes through the air as Q moves closer to the fallen body of C. He kneels down, hazel-green eyes fixed on the other man. “This gun was created by me. You think I am not intelligent enough to have an override of my own palm?”  He says with a smile.

* * *

  
“Is everything okay?” André asks, thankful to finally have a satellite phone. James and himself have thankfully been extracted from the building and he was anxiously awaiting news from Q about the situation. “M’s still-”  
  
“Alive and kicking, yes, 006,” Q says, and André can practically hear the smile in his voice. “And still incredibly mad at both of us, though I think we may get away with two months of report writing,”  
  
André groans. “Report writing?”  
  
“Better than the alternative,”  
  
“So, what about him, you know, C?” André presses the receiver closer to his ear as the extraction team fuss over James.  
  
“Daniel?” Q says quietly. “I shot him,”  
  
“You shot him?” André asks in incredulation. “Like with a gun?”  
  
“Of course, with a gun. What else would I shoot him with? It was either he shoot M in the temple and kill her or I wound him,”  
  
“Shame you didn’t kill him,”  
  
“Well, I think he’s suffered enough,” Q says softly. “Anyway, how is James? Is he going to be okay?”  
  
“Dehydrated, will probably need a lot of therapy when we get him home. He’s been severely tortured for a week,” André’s voice holds an edge of sadness. “He’s taken a beating and he’s used to that, but not water torture continuously,” He pauses. “But I suppose it’s nothing that a few weeks at home with me won’t fix,”  
  
“I suppose,” Q’s voice holds a touch of sadness.  
  
“What’s wrong?”

  
“I’m just thinking about everything, about how much I told Daniel without truly knowing him - just shows that you can’t really trust anyone-”  
  
“You can trust me,”  
  
There’s a slight pause. “I know. Thank you André,”  
  
“Quartermaster,”  
  
“Call me Jean-Eric,”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because that’s my name,” Q says with a sigh. “And I’d like to go for that dinner when you’re back,”  
  
André smiles. “That sounds like an excellent idea, Jean-Eric.” _  
_


End file.
